


In Plain Sight

by halcyon1993



Series: The Kinky Adventures of a Wolf and His Boy [43]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Armpit Kink, Barebacking, Beta Peter Hale, Bottom Peter Hale, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Come Marking, Deepthroating, Exhibitionism, Face-Sitting, Food Sex, Gratuitous Smut, Incest, Large Cock, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Manhandling, Multi, Nipple Licking, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Sex, Riding, Rimming, Scent Kink, Spells & Enchantments, Threesome - M/M/M, Top Derek Hale, Uncle/Nephew Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-17 04:40:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16509560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halcyon1993/pseuds/halcyon1993
Summary: Stiles has been in a relationship with both Derek and Peter for a while now, and he is well aware of the exhibitionist streaks the two Hales possess. When he discovers a spell that will allow them to have sex in public without a problem, all bets are off.





	In Plain Sight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AHumbleProphet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AHumbleProphet/gifts).
  * Translation into Español available: [In Plain Sight (Traducción)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17730533) by [lbp98l](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lbp98l/pseuds/lbp98l)



> As always with this series, don't judge me for the depravity I have written…

Stiles couldn't be happier with his sex life.

Since he started dating not one but _two_ sexy Hale men just over a year ago, he went from having no sex at all to having more than he could handle. It wasn't easy at first for a little ol' human like him to keep up with two werewolves who didn't seem to have ever heard of a refractory period, but Stiles' stamina grew, and then he wouldn't have changed a thing about it.

The only problem was his certainty that, unlike him, Derek and Peter weren't wholly satisfied.

It was no fault of his, so he didn't take it personally. It was just that both Hales had an affinity for showing off, and Stiles noticed how explosively they got off on the idea that other people were watching them. Exhibitionism had never really been Stiles' kink, but he had no problem participating whenever the mood arose. He gave many blowjobs in the mouths of alleyways, where someone could have walked past at any moment and seen him and whichever of his mates he was sucking off. On one very memorable occasion, Stiles had even found himself blowing both of his mates beneath their table at an Italian restaurant, the table cloth the only thing preventing all three of them from being arrested and thrown into a jail cell.

While things like that would have been more than enough for Stiles alone, Derek and Peter were always looking for new ways to push the envelope, getting as naked as they could get away with and showing as much affection in public as was possible. It drove Stiles crazy, because whenever he saw Derek making out with his uncle, he got so hard he thought his dick could pound nails.

All of that leads Stiles to where he is now. He sits alone in his study in the Hale house, which he'd moved into with Derek and Peter as soon as the reconstruction was finished and he turned eighteen. Because he wants his mates to be as happy with their sex life as he is, a few weeks ago Stiles had an idea and dove headfirst into research mode, searching for a solution to their little sexual quandary in a spell or an enchantment or an amulet—anything, really. Derek and Peter can't be the only kinky fuckers in the world who are supernatural, so someone must have come up with something that Stiles and his sexy werewolves can make use of.

Sure enough, in a book he'd 'borrowed' from Alan Deaton's private collection in the back room of the veterinary clinic, Stiles finally finds the perfect solution: a spell. It requires a lot of power every time it's cast, but Stiles has been training his spark with Deaton for the past few years and believes he can pull it off without too much trouble.

Triumphant, he sticks a piece of paper in the book so that he can easily find the right page again and exits his study. He follows his nose down the stairs to the ground floor, where he finds his mates cooking dinner together in the kitchen. Both werewolves are each only wearing a pair of boxer-briefs; black for Derek and red for Peter. Stiles is actually surprised because it's more than his mates usually wear whenever it's just the three of them in the house. He gets lost for a while running his eyes up and down their bodies—their muscular legs, the tight globes of their asses, the way the muscles of their backs shift beneath tanned skin as they move. It's only when Peter looks back at him over his shoulder that Stiles manages to switch his brain back on.

"Wow, you're still alive," the eldest Hale comments with a smirk.

Stiles frowns. "What?"

"You were shut up in your study for so long we thought you might have died up there," Peter explains, turning back to the pot of spaghetti sauce simmering away on the stove.

"Oh. Yeah, I'm fine. I was just doing some—"

"—Research, we know," Derek interrupts. "Are you finally gonna tell us what this has all been about, or do we have to wait even longer?"

Stiles feels instantly guilty. He's sure neither of mates meant to make him feel that way, but it's clear he has been inadvertently neglecting them lately. "Sorry," he says. He places the book gently on the island and then wraps himself around Derek from behind, resting his cheek right over his Sourwolf's triskelion tattoo.

"It's fine, Stiles," Peter assures him, putting a hand on his arm. "We don't mind."

"It's true," Derek concurs, pausing in his chopping of vegetables to link his fingers with Stiles'.

"Still, I let myself get too focused on it," Stiles persists, not so willing to permit his mates to let him off the hook so easily. "So I said I'm sorry 'cause I am."

"We forgive you then," Peter accepts, sensing the human's stubbornness.

With a relieved smile, Stiles releases Derek and pecks Peter on the lips before turning back to where he'd dumped Deaton's book on the island. "Now that that's out of the way, yes, I am gonna tell you what I've been up to, and once I do I think you'll think it was worth the time it took."

Both Hales leave dinner for now and turn around, after Peter turns down the heat beneath the pan.

"Do tell, Little Red," the eldest Hale smirks. "I'm intrigued now."

"As if you weren't before," Derek mutters.

"Hush, nephew, or I'll have to spank you."

Derek glares. "I'd like to see you try."

Stiles laughs at his mates' antics. "I'd like to see that too, actually, but back to the topic at hand please?"

Derek stops glaring and both Hales return their attention to Stiles.

"Well, I know you two love the idea of getting freaky in public spaces," Stiles begins. He flips the book open to the page he'd marked but doesn't let either of his mates see it yet. "But obviously we can't do that if we don't want to serve jail time—which, no, my dad would literally kill me. And he'd probably kill you guys as well, for good measure."

"True," Peter agrees, his voice amused. "It's a bit ridiculous. I mean, who wouldn't want to get an eyeful of this?" He gestures to his bare torso and waggles his eyebrows.

Derek sighs like it pains him and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Anyway, I've found a solution, one that'll let us get as freaky as you want, wherever and whenever you want," Stiles declares, finally turning the book around so that both older men can see it.

There's silence for a few moments as the Hales read what's written on the page, and when they're finished, matching grins stretch their mouths.

"You're a wonderful mate, Stiles Stilinski," Peter compliments, palming himself through his underwear.

"You really are," Derek concurs. He doesn't touch himself, but his bulge gets noticeably bigger.

"When?" Peter asks, impatient already. "Tonight?"

Stiles purses his lips. "Well, you've already started cooking dinner for tonight—"

"Screw that! We can pack it up and have it tomorrow."

With a fond roll of his eyes, Stiles rereads the spell to make sure he has everything he needs. "I guess we can go out to eat. If that's what you guys really want." If he's honest with himself, the thought of having full-on sex with his hunky werewolf mates while dozens and dozens of people are oblivious around them gets him going too. Even so, he keeps his voice as even as he can, but he can't hide the scent of his own arousal, which causes both Hales to look at him heatedly. "I take it that's a yes?"

"Of course it's a yes!" Peter exclaims. He turns the heat beneath the pan off altogether.

"Where'd you wanna go?"

"Well, since you found the spell for us, I'll allow you to pick this time."

"How generous of you," Stiles says sarcastically.

Peter leaves the room and tosses a, "You're welcome," over his shoulder.

"Do you have any suggestions?" Stiles asks Derek, who is busy putting the vegetables he has chopped into Tupperware containers so they don't go bad.

"Not really. You know I'm good with anything."

 _Ain't that the truth?_ Stiles thinks with a shake of his head. There's no doubt that Derek is the least high maintenance of the two Hales. "How about we go French? I was thinking that fucking in someplace really fancy would probably make it feel even naughtier."

"Sure, we can do that."

"But wait, won't we need reservations?"

Derek chuckles. He shoves the Tupperware in the fridge before resting his hands atop Stiles' shoulders. "I can get us a table. Being a Hale comes with its perks."

"You mean aside from the unfairly good genes?"

"Exactly. I'll care of it."

Stiles is flabbergasted but quickly accepts it. "Oh, well…cool. In the car in fifteen, then?"

"Sure."

Plan made, and sure that Peter heard when they'll be leaving, Stiles exits the kitchen as well and descends into the basement, which is where he stores all of his spell ingredients. He doesn't have that many because Deaton doesn't yet trust him with the more potent stuff, but in a stroke of extremely good luck, as he peruses the shelves of jars, Stiles confirms that, yes, he does have everything he needs for the spell he'll be casting tonight.

He gathers all of the ingredients, along with a matchbox, and goes through the short process of preparing everything, crushing what needs to be crushed in a mortar and pestle and then tipping everything in a small metal bowl. He rereads the instructions from the book and then calls his mates down into the basement with him.

"What's up?" Peter says, appearing behind Stiles so quickly and silently that the human nearly jumps out of his skin.

"What've I told you about doing that?!" Stiles squeals, smacking Peter on his chest. The beta is now dressed in a dark-green T-shirt with a dangerously low V-neck and a pair of blue jeans.

"Not to?"

"So why d'you still do it?"

"Because I get a kick out of it. Obviously."

"Behave, Uncle," Derek orders as he joins them, also fully dressed in a red henley and black jeans. He flashes his eyes to make Peter realise he means business.

Peter gives Stiles and his nephew the pout to end all pouts. "Neither of you are any fun."

"Just shut up and come here," Stiles tells him.

Picking up the matchbox, he takes a single match out, gives it to Derek, and then gives the box to Peter. Finally, he takes both of his mates' free hands in his, ensuring that all three of them will be affected by the spell.

"Hold the box steady, Peter, and when I give the signal, I need Derek to light the match and drop it into the bowl."

"It's that simple?" Peter enquires dubiously.

"Most magic is about belief, especially when it comes from a spark like mine, so yes."

A minute later, after he has finished the incantation and felt the familiar surge of his magic travelling through his veins, he nods at Derek and watches as the flaming match falls from the alpha's fingers into the bowl. The ingredients within combust violently, rising in a flame that reaches nearly to the ceiling before extinguishing itself in an instant. The bowl is left empty.

"All done," Stiles says, letting go of his mates' hands.

"I don't feel any different," Derek observes.

"Me neither," Peter adds.

"What? Don't you trust me?" Stiles teases them, leading the way out of the basement.

"Of course we do," Derek answers, shutting the door when they're all up on the ground floor again.

"Then trust me when I say it worked; I felt it."

Derek's assent is just as instantaneous and absolute as the fire going out. "Alright."

Pleased, Stiles grabs a jacket from the line of hooks in the foyer and shrugs it on. "Now come on. I'm hungry and horny."

"Are you sure you're the alpha, dear nephew?" Peter asks Derek slyly, forgoing a jacket himself. With his higher body temperature, he doesn't really need one.

Derek frowns at his uncle as he opens the front door and lets Stiles out ahead of him. "What do you mean?"

"With how much Stiles bosses us both around, I think _he_ might actually be the alpha," Peter explains cheekily.

Stiles listens to them from his place next to Derek's Camaro and snorts.

"Like you can ever say no to him either," Derek defends.

Peter looks almost affronted and dramatically clutches a hand to his chest. "I can!"

"Peter?" Stiles calls, seeing the perfect opportunity to interject.

The beta turns to him with a frown. "What?"

"Be good and get in the car now, okay? Don't make me wait or I won't eat anything off of your body."

With a threat like that, Peter scurries over to the Camaro and gets into the backseat without another word. Stiles shares a look full of mirth with Derek before they join Peter, Stiles in the passenger seat and Derek behind the wheel. Without any more ado, they're off.

* * *

Half an hour later, Stiles sits sandwiched between Derek and Peter at a table in the middle of the most expensive French restaurant in all of Beacon County. They haven't done anything yet, but there's so much anticipation in the air that it's almost palpable. Because he's dining with two werewolves whose stomachs are black holes, Stiles is the last to finish his food, and then Peter signals to the waitress that they're ready to order dessert. Stiles tries to listen as, seemingly from memory, she lists off everything being served tonight, but he only lasts until she gets to the chocolate mousse because that's when Peter suddenly rips off his shirt. Stiles tenses up, waiting for their waitress to ask what the hell Peter thinks he's doing, but the woman just keeps rattling off dishes.

"I'll have the chocolate mousse," Derek says when she's done.

"Creme brûlée for me, please," Peter adds. He starts unbuttoning his jeans, already revelling in the proof that Stiles' spell worked.

"Uhh…I'll take the mousse too," Stiles chokes out.

The waitress smiles amiably at them and walks away to put their order in. When she's gone, Stiles turns to Peter. "We're starting now then?"

"Dessert seems like the perfect time, don't you think?"

"I guess."

Turning the other way, Stiles finds that Derek is keeping pace with his uncle, his jeans and underwear already halfway down his muscular thighs. Not wanting to fall behind, Stiles starts taking off his own clothes as well, and a minute later all three of them are naked. Stiles is half-hard and rapidly approaching full-mast, but both of his mates are already there, their huge erections leaking pre-come. Stiles guessed long ago that the copious amount is a werewolf thing.

After shoving their clothing out of the way beneath the table, Peter climbs on top of the flat surface and sits so that his legs are spread on either side of Stiles, giving the human a great view of his cock and his full, low-hanging balls. He leans back on his arms and looks pointedly down at his crotch as if to say, "Well? Get on with it." Even though part of him wants to wipe the annoyingly smug expression from the eldest Hale's face, Stiles has never been able to resist when he is presented with either of his mates' erections, so after a feigned exasperated sigh he dives right on it.

"Come here, nephew," Peter says above him. Stiles hears them kissing a moment later.

With the sound of many conversations and the clinking of cutlery and fine china around him, Stiles runs his lips up and down Peter's nine-inch cock. When he gets to the base, he goes lower, sucking one of Peter's balls into his mouth and licking the traces of sweat from the soft, wrinkled skin. He does the same with Peter's other ball and then buries his nose in the beta's coarse pubes, untrimmed at Stiles' insistence because he loves the scent that's always embedded there—it's musky and masculine and just the right side of unclean after a long day, and Stiles can never seem to get enough of it. He stays there for a while, Peter's cock hot against his cheek, until the eldest Hale tangles thick fingers in his hair and tugs lightly, urging him to blow him properly.

Raising his head, Stiles wraps his hand around the base of Peter's dick and holds it steady as he laps at the head, drinking down some of the deliciously bitter pre-come that burbles at the slit, and then he opens his mouth wide. He bobs his head up and down a few times, taking another inch each time until the head hits the back of his throat. Stiles has had more than enough practice giving blowjobs in recent years to result in his gag reflex being basically non-existent. He's able to go even further without any trouble, aiming to take every inch until his nose is once again in Peter's pubes.

With some persistence, Stiles finds success. He swallows around Peter's cock and is pleased with himself when he hears the choked sound he elicits. Peter moves his hand to the back of Stiles' head and holds him there for a few seconds, just until Stiles begins to run out of air and his heart rate picks up speed. Peter must be listening to it because he chooses then to let him go. Stiles pulls off with a sputter, his eyes watering as he inhales greedily.

It's then that their waitress returns with their desserts. She doesn't bat an eye at their nudity or that fact that Peter is still sitting on the tabletop, his cock wet and shiny with a combination of spit and pre-come. "Here you go," she says pleasantly, putting their desserts down in the middle of the table. On each plate is a white ramekin, two filled to the brim with chocolate mousse and the other with Peter's creme brûlée. The waitress steps back, says, "Enjoy!" and leaves again.

Seeing their desserts, Stiles recalls what he'd said to Peter as they were leaving the house. His mouth fills with saliva.

"Lie back," he tells Peter, relocating their desserts to the edge of the table.

"I think I can guess where this is going," the beta says lasciviously. He does as he's told and tucks his hands behind his head, showing off his hairy pits. They catch Stiles' eye right away. "See something you like?"

"You know I do," Stiles replies.

Peter chuckles, his whole being radiating cockiness.

Stiles huffs. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up."

When the beta has shut up again, Stiles looks to his right and meets Derek's gaze. "Why don't you join him?"

"Gladly," Derek assents, climbing onto the tabletop too and lying down in almost the same position as his uncle. The only difference is that he only tucks one hand behind his head and chooses to use the other to leisurely stroke his neglected erection.

Having both Hales spread out before him like an all-you-can-eat buffet of tanned skin, body hair and muscle is almost too much for Stiles to handle. He grips his own cock tightly to prevent himself from coming prematurely, and when he believes the danger has passed, he rises to his feet and starts with Peter's creme brûlée. With the ramekin in hand, he breaks the crust on top and scoops out some of the warm custard with his index finger. With no particular design in mind, he paints lines across Peter's torso with the dessert, making sure that he gets plenty around Peter's nipples.

When there's no custard left in the ramekin, Stiles starts the process of licking it off. He licks a long line up the beta's hair-dusted abs and pushes the dessert into Peter's mouth. They kiss lazily for a few seconds, and then Stiles retreats to lick off some more. As he does, he looks up through his eyelashes and moans quietly when he sees that Derek is now leaning over his uncle so that they can share a messy kiss of their own, effectively making sure that all three of them get a taste of the perfectly sweetened creme brûlée. Stiles keeps his eyes locked on his mates' mouths as he licks more custard off of Peter's torso, watching as their lips slide against each other and he spots the occasional hint of their pink tongues battling for dominance. He interrupts them to renew the custard flavour of their kiss and then leaves them to it again.

Stiles keeps the custard around Peter's nipples for himself. He sucks greedily on the dusky nubs until the sweetness is gone and all he can taste is Peter's skin, and then he keeps going, worrying each nipple between his teeth until the beta gasps into his nephew's mouth and thrusts out his chest in a silent plea for more. Unable to deny him, Stiles bites down harder and doesn't stop until both of Peter's nipples are red and swollen.

The soreness won't last for long, thanks to Peter's werewolf healing, but it's a satisfying image nevertheless.

Getting on top of the table himself so that he can nose further up, he sticks his face straight in one of Peter's armpits and inhales deeply to fill his lungs with his musk. It's potent because Peter hasn't showered since that morning and his deodorant has basically all worn off now, and that's just how Stiles likes it. One of his favourite things to do is to catch either of his mates just after they've finished working out. Just the sight of them all hot and sweaty is enough to take Stiles from 0 to 100 in the space of a single second, and he always delights in licking the salt from their naked bodies before they wash it away for real in the bathroom.

"Dirty boy," he hears Peter murmur.

"Like either of you are any different," Stiles counters. After all, he'd picked up this particular kink from watching his two werewolves together.

Derek laughs. "He's got you there."

Peter harrumphs but doesn't protest as Derek copies Stiles with his other pit. Stiles can't help but be jealous as he watches Derek out of the corner of his eye. Peter still smells amazing to his human nose, but he wonders what Derek can pick up with his heightened senses. He remains certain that he doesn't want the bite, not unless he's on the verge of death, but if there were ever something that would tempt him, it's that curiosity.

Pushing the thought away, Stiles and Derek lavish Peter's armpits with the attention they deserve for several minutes, sniffing at the fine brown hairs and grooming them with their tongues until most of Peter's musk is gone.

"My turn," Peter says when they're done.

Stiles is shocked into inaction as his world blurs and he finds himself staring up at the high ceiling. Peter shoves his arm up and together with Derek he takes his time grooming Stiles' armpits in return. It's always a weird feeling at first, especially when Stiles feels the first few licks. He has always been incredibly ticklish, and as usual the two werewolves have to hold him in place while they take what they want from him. Eventually, though, he gets used to the sensation and relaxes again. Then he begins enjoying it and bucks his hips up to grind his aching cock against Derek's thigh.

"Always smell so good," the alpha mumbles, rubbing his face all over Stiles' pit to embed the scent of it into his pores.

"He really does," Peter concurs. "So fucking good, Stiles."

Stiles blushes. "You're such dorks."

"Well you're stuck with us now. No take-backs."

 _As if I would,_ Stiles thinks.

He turns his head to the side and looks over at the table next to theirs, where a straight couple dines quietly. As if sensing his gaze, the man looks up from his risotto and offers Stiles a friendly smile, his eyes not seeing the truth of what's happening mere feet from him. All he'll be able to see is three men sitting calmly together as they enjoy their desserts.

It's so naughty that it makes Stiles gasp.

When the werewolves deem his pits sufficiently groomed, Stiles stays lying there as they quickly rearrange themselves. Derek positions himself between Stiles' legs and bends them backward just enough to get at his ass, whereas Peter turns himself around and straddles the human's upper body, putting his own amazingly sculpted ass right in front of Stiles' face. His weight is comforting and arousing, and each ass cheek is tanned, firm and hairy.

Taking the treat that's offered to him, Stiles spreads Peter's cheeks so that he can rim the beta like Derek is currently rimming him. Whatever Derek does to him, every swirl and gentle prod of his tongue, he does to Peter. The beta smells musky here too, and the furled skin of his hole has a slightly salty taste to it that Stiles really enjoys.

After a while, Peter begins grinding his ass back onto Stiles' face and ends up actually sitting on it, putting just the right amount of pressure on him not to actually suffocate him. As he eats out the eldest Hale, Stiles feels Derek stick one of his thick fingers inside of him and is surprised by how smooth the glide is. Derek must have had the forethought to grab some lube before they left the house earlier.

His Sourwolf is so smart.

One finger quickly becomes two, and then three. When Stiles feels stretched and loose, he taps Derek on the head with his heel to get him to move on to the main event.

"Needy tonight, aren't you?" Derek teases.

Stiles moans his agreement. The noise is muffled by Peter's ass, but it must still get the point across because Derek slides his fingers out and replaces them with the blunt head of his uncut cock. He thrusts in slowly but unremittingly, not stopping until all eight-and-a-half inches are buried deep inside of Stiles' body. The stretch is always a lot to take, no matter how many times Stiles has been fucked by both of his mates in the past. Derek gives him a few minutes to get used to it, and Stiles distracts himself until he's ready by sucking on Peter's tight hole. When the discomfort has finally lessened enough, he makes another sound and briefly clamps his legs tight around Derek's hips.

"Better give him what he wants, nephew," Peter says. "Wouldn't want to disappoint him."

Derek plays along. "True. That _would_ be bad."

What follows is a series of syrupy thrusts that completely miss Stiles' prostate. Derek is skilled enough to easily find that special spot, so Stiles knows he's missing on purpose.

That bastard.

Peter laughs at him when he grumbles his disapproval, because being a bastard apparently runs in the family. Stiles suspects that Peter is where Derek got it from in the first place, and while he's glad that Derek is comfortable enough around him now to let the playful side of himself out, in that moment Stiles is just frustrated. To make his feelings known, he stops using his tongue on Peter's rim and nips at it with his teeth instead, which makes the beta jolt atop him. He nearly topples forward, clearly having not expected the switch-up.

"Cheeky," Peter mutters when he has recovered.

"What'd he do?" Derek questions, still thrusting slowly in and out of Stiles' ass. He laughs too when Peter answers him.

Stiles tries to take matters into his own hands. He wriggles as much as he is able when pinned between two muscular men, arching is back in an attempt to make the head of Derek's cock hit his prostate, but his efforts prove futile when Peter puts his hands on his stomach to still him.

"Ah-ah-ah!" Peter scolds, sitting more forcefully on top of Stiles' face.

After an indeterminate amount of time—could be one minute, could be a whole hour, for all Stiles is able to tell—Derek finally speeds up his thrusts and stops purposefully avoiding his prostate. Stiles shouts the first time it happens, the sound loud enough that, even with the muffling effect of Peter's ass, it reaches every corner of the restaurant. He scratches at Peter's hips to get him to sit forward because he needs to be able to breathe better again. Luckily, the beta has decided to stop being a bastard and chooses to capitulate.

Stiles sucks in great lungfuls of air as Peter turns around and moves away a bit, presenting him with his front instead. He clutches at the tablecloth beneath him as Derek ups the pace even more, until their skin slaps together. When his lungs no longer burn, Stiles is able to concentrate more on what's happening. Over Peter's shoulder, sweat is starting to bead on Derek's brow and his cheeks are flushed red with all the energy he's exerting, which only serves to make him look sexier.

Stiles frowns when he switches his gaze to Peter. The beta has one hand behind himself, doing something that Stiles can't see. He can't even guess because his brain is slow with the pleasure that Derek is making him feel. Peter kneels there, his cock dripping pre-come onto Stiles' stomach, his head tipped forward slightly and his eyes closed in a blissful expression. Just when Stiles is about to ask what's going on, Peter brings his hand back around, three of his fingers slick with lube. He rises up on his knees and sinks back down onto Stiles' cock without preamble.

"Fuck!" Stiles yells, throwing his head back.

Being fucked by Derek and ridden by Peter at the same time is too much. All the pent-up desire that he has felt all evening swiftly catches up to him, and he doesn't even last a couple minutes before achieving orgasm. Peter rides him through it while stripping his own cock quickly, and then he sits firmly in Stiles' lap as his own orgasm hits. He paints Stiles with his release just as Derek's thrusts become jerky and uncoordinated. The alpha's orgasm must have been brought closer by Stiles', by how it made his ass clench tight around him. A few thrusts later, he sinks in all the way a final time and collapses against Peter's back. He wraps his arms around his uncle and buries his face in his neck with a high-pitched whine as he fills Stiles' ass with his seed. He doesn't knot.

When they've all caught their breath, Derek pulls out of Stiles and drops back into his chair with a groan. "Damn…"

"Damn," Stiles echoes. He is unable to move, both because Peter is still on top of him and all of his energy has been thoroughly fucked out of him.

"Aww, did we wear you out?" Peter says teasingly.

"Shaddup," Stiles murmurs, his eyes half-closed.

"I definitely think we wore him out, nephew."

"Seems like it," Derek responds.

Stiles lies there for a while, and Peter uses the time to wipe the come off of him with his finger and feed it to him bit by bit. When it's all gone, he climbs off of Stiles' lap.

Derek takes the human's hand and instead of letting him sit on his own, he pulls him down into his lap, not caring that he gets come all over his thighs. Stiles goes willingly, and his eyes widen when Peter passes him one of the ramekins of chocolate soufflé. He completely forget about it and grabs a spoon to dig in, needing the sugar rush. Derek picks up the other soufflé and does the same, alternating between eating a spoonful himself and holding the spoon out for Peter to eat from.

When they're done, their waitress appears again. "Was everything alright?"

The three mates share grins before Derek replies. "It was amazing, thank you."

"I'm glad. Will you be having anything else, or would you like the bill?"

"The bill, please."

Once the meal has been paid for, Stiles gets off of Derek's lap and picks all of their clothes up from beneath the table. He dresses himself fully and shakes his head when he turns to his mates. If he thought they would be fully dressed again too, he was mistaken. Although he is still shirtless, Derek has at least put his jeans back on, but Peter is still naked, his clothes draped over his left arm.

"What?" he asks when Stiles just stares at him.

Saying nothing, Stiles leads the way out past the other people still dining. He is grudgingly amused when they pass the maître d' and Peter waves at him as if nothing out of the ordinary is going on. The maître d' waves back and wishes them a pleasant evening, and then they're outside and making their way back to Derek's Camaro.

The drive home is made mostly in silence, all three of them sated from the good food and hot sex.

"So, I'd say the spell was a resounding success," Peter says when they're home.

"Mmhmm," Stiles agrees.

"We're definitely doing it again."

"If you want."

Peter's eyes gleam with mischief as they enter the house. "Oh, I _need_."

Stiles would be lying if he said he wouldn't like to see Peter walking around completely naked in public more often. "I guess I'd better make sure to stay stocked on the ingredients."

"Do that, and you'll be thoroughly rewarded."

"How?"

"You'll see."

With that tease, Peter disappears into the house and leaves Stiles with his curiosity.

**Author's Note:**

> I missed Peter's sass, so it was nice to bring it back for a bit. I also focused more on him than on Derek, solely because Peter was essentially a guest in this series. I had a lot of fun writing the banter between all three of them, especially at the start, so much so that you might see Peter show up in another PWP at some point in the future. In fact, I purposefully gave this one an ending that screams for a sequel. If anyone is interested in that, let me know. And to assuage the worries of anyone who didn't like Peter being included, we'll return to our regularly scheduled programming—a.k.a. just Stiles and Derek—with the next PWP.
> 
> Thank you to AHumbleProphet for giving me this prompt. I hope it was everything you wanted it to be. :)
> 
> Stay tuned for my next PWP, in which Derek discovers that Stiles is secretly a Dom for alpha werewolves who need to relieve some stress. After confronting him, Derek becomes Stiles' personal sub. Top!Stiles/bottom!Derek.
> 
> **P.S. Don't forget to subscribe to me to be notified when my future fics go live, which will all be Sterek. And please check out my past fics if you haven't already and are interested.**


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